Maria Vidal was running late. As a carer, working for the city’s social services, she had three housebound clients she visited five days a week. She was on her way to see Raúl Gonzales at his home in La Boca, one of the city’s poorest districts, located in the south-east, near the old port. Her regular bus had broken down over a mile away from the house, so she had been forced to walk the rest of the journey laden with two heavy shopping bags full of groceries.
Life had not been kind to Maria. At sixty-three, she lived alone in a small rented apartment and struggled every week to try and make ends meet. She’d never married as, for thirty years, she’d looked after her mother, who’d suffered from a disastrous mix of Parkinson’s and early dementia. Following her death, Maria lost the income of the monthly pension that used to keep them both going and the only work she could find was with social services. So, after a lifetime of looking after her mother, she was now caring for a small group of elderly citizens she didn’t really give a damn about. They just helped pay the bills.
Maria was nearly an hour late and braced herself for the verbal abuse she knew she would receive from her ungrateful client. Raúl Gonzales was an arrogant, abusive old man whom she truly despised. She cursed under her breath as one of the shopping bags slipped from her grasp while she struggled to find the correct door key from her bulging key ring. As she bent down to pick up a couple of apples that had fallen from her bag, she noticed a small red velvet pouch lying on the grass. She grabbed it and quickly stuffed it inside her coat pocket before opening the front door.
She spent the following hour as usual, washing and feeding the old man, who was as ungrateful as ever for her company or help. Gonzales was a bear of a man. He was six feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds. Maria speculated that, in his day, he must have been attractive, but now, well into his eighties, he was crippled with arthritis and confined to a wheelchair. His mind, however, was undiminished and, sure enough, she received a tongue-lashing for keeping him waiting for his lunch, a disgusting microwaved concoction of meat and pasta. As usual, she couldn’t wait to finish her duties and leave his company as quickly as possible. Today, though, she had an extra incentive to get away as she had a nagging curiosity about the contents of the velvet pouch.
She bid Gonzales goodbye and made her way to the bus stop, which was a five-minute walk away. The street was quiet, and Maria sat down on the short wooden bench, breathing a heavy sigh. She felt inside her coat pocket and retrieved the velvet pouch, which was now screwed up into a tight ball. The gold drawstring opened easily and she poured the contents into her hand. Two rings tumbled out. One was a plain, thin gold band but the other was far more interesting: a solitaire diamond mounted on a simple open setting. The stone was enormous and was held in position by four platinum claws.
Maria knew absolutely nothing about diamonds, having never owned one, but she was stunned by the size of this gem. She assumed it must be a fake, but, even so, it would still have some commercial value, as would the gold ring. She wondered who might have dropped the pouch, as, to the best of her knowledge, Gonzales had no visitors other than her and the postman. She vowed to visit her local pawnshop early the next day, before she started work. Maybe she could get a couple of hundred dollars for her lucky find.
The following morning, she headed straight to her local pawnbroker and stood outside the front door waiting for it to open. Her first house visit wasn’t due until ten thirty, so, if Señor Ortiz opened up at nine as usual, she would have time to do some business first. Since the death of her mother, she had made a number of visits to his shop, pawning a mixture of the household ornaments and costume jewellery she had inherited. But now the home cupboard was bare, so a few unexpected dollars for these two trinkets would be very welcome.
The shop had been under the same ownership for forty years, and Alexandro Ortiz knew all his regular customers by name. When he saw Maria waiting outside the shop, his heart sank as he knew she only ever brought in total crap, but things were quiet, so every customer still had to be welcomed to his premises.
“Maria, darling, how are you? What treasures are you bringing me today?”
Maria was far too preoccupied with her own anxieties to pick up on the sarcasm in his voice. She had spent the previous evening at home preparing a suitable script.
“Good morning, Señor Ortiz. I have some of my mother’s most precious jewellery that I was determined never to sell but needs must as bills have to be paid. Please be generous as they are of great sentimental value to me.”
She took out the pouch and handed it across the counter to Ortiz. The first thing that caught his eye was a small gold Cartier logo stamped on the velvet at the bottom of the pouch, a marking Maria had completely missed. He opened it up and carefully retrieved the contents. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the solitaire. He knew the gem was at least ten carats in weight, and at first glance it looked genuine. He gathered his thoughts as he peered through his eyeglass at the pure white stone.
“This is a nice replica, Maria. Your mother obviously had very good taste. What were you looking to get for the two rings?”
Maria decided to go for broke. “I’m thinking five hundred dollars.”
She held her breath.
“Maria, I think three hundred would be fairer, but, as it’s you, how about we agree at four?”
Maria didn’t hesitate. “Thank you, Señor Ortiz, I think that’s very fair.”
A couple of minutes after Maria left the pawnshop, clutching four one-hundred-dollar bills in her hand, the old pawnbroker made a phone call to Theodor Consultants.